by James Finn Garner

500
Is such an exquisite digit–
The miles in a Daytona race,
Fortune’s biggest firms anyplace,
And Fiat’s postwar car-midget.

500
The dingers hit by “Big Hurt” Frank,
Of the sweet stroke and bitter knees,
A-Rod, whipping boy for the Yankees,
And Thome, svelte as a Sherman tank.

500
Their several teams never captured it all.
The sluggers pushed on in good years and bad,
Taking what pleasure there was to be had
In campaigns of .500 ball.

500!
Carved into history like Cy Nostradamus.
As Father Time erodes, hobbles and tames,
That mark will always shine next to these names.
500 cheers for Thome, Rodriguez and Thomas!

Posted 10/16/07 

Published in Oakland Athletics, Pure doggerel, Seattle Mariners, Texas Rangers, James Finn Garner, Cleveland Indians, Chicago White Sox, Toronto Blue Jays, Philadelphia Phillies, Players, History, New York Yankees | Link to this poem |